Into the Darkness- the Thirty Second Hunger Games
by grad-phi
Summary: Darkness. It lies within all of us. It is the part of us that longs for the forbidden, that thirsts for confrontation. Some might say that it is evil. In the Hunger Games though, when there is nowhere left to run and no place to hide that bit of darkness might be life-saving. Because when it is kill or be killed there is only one thing to do- go into the darkness. SYOT still spots.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Two months after the Thirty-First Hunger Games_

* * *

Far off in the distance lightning strikes.

It hurtles towards the ground at a speed incomprehensible to any organic life-form dependant on electromagnetic radiation based vision, jumping along its path through the ionised air to meet the rapidly growing spike of energy flying up from the ground. A tumultuous thundering from the sky heralds the pair joining together only moments later.

The storm continues- grey clouds and wet, clinging rain rampaging across the sky; light and noise joined in a terrible battle to destroy the senses.

Not that anybody at the party notices.

Packed into a room, hundreds of well-off Capitolites swirl across the floor in one dazzling show of beauty, colour and political agenda. As they dance between their various social circles, plying favour from as many groups as possible and pausing only to pluck a few delicacies off the overladen tables they never stop doing one thing- chattering. It is mundane, petty and inconsequential and yet it is never ending: in one corner, a group of three or four men- all gaudily dressed in a rainbow mess of fur and tangled feathers- stand listening to slightly drooping but equally finely dressed older lady prattling on about the difficulty of finding well-trained and obedient Axoves; in another a brooding, bald-headed man delivers a stern lecture about the necessities of keeping order and discipline in the Districts; in another a rag-tag bunch of over-costumed kids squeal as they race after each other.

It makes Colander Smyth smile, watching these people fretting their lives away. She can hear the ominous rumbling of the clouds over the sounds of the party. She knows about all the things that these people pretended didn't exist or didn't happen. She knows the truth. _I_ know the truth.

_Chinck._

The sound of glass being set on a plate makes me instinctively spin round to face my expected attacker but instead of an assassin armed to the teeth with lethal weaponry I'm only faced with the hulking form of Panem's one and only President. Not as likely to attack me physically but still far more dangerous and deadly than any killer; if he wanted me dead there wouldn't be a mortal- beatable- man against me but the entire mobilised might of a nation. Unstoppable.

"Miss Colander," his voice is thick and husky, hiding a hint of a southern accent "how nice to see you here."

"Well, I could hardly be expected to miss one of your parties- especially with so many of your citizens already hungering after the next games."

While laughing almost naturally, I fight the urge to the respond to the use of my full first name; a number of Capitol names verge on the insane and despite my parents' arguments I've always felt that mine was one of the few that had trampled all over the line marking the far reaches of sanity. Instead, I spend my temporary burst of annoyance closely examining the President's suit- most of it is made from a fine deep purple velvet but around the cuffs and on the collar a thinner, shiny material has been sown on. Antique silk. It's the first time I've seen some, except for on TV and in real life the slightly threadbare blue fabric is less dazzling but even then, I can't imagine how much these few scraps of it would cost- more than I'll ever make in my lifetime, I expect, probably more than all of Panem combined will ever make.

"How funny Miss Colander!" He pauses to allow a young party-goer to slip by a little too close before continuing with a far more serious tone. "You see, I didn't just call you here to pander to the masses- there's someone I want you to meet…"

He makes a swift gesture with his hand and the crowd behind him suddenly pats to allow a petite fifteen year-old and an older, taller, more world-weary nineteen year-old to pass through. I'm intrigued to recognise the boy as last year's Victor, Immanuel Caste although he looks no better than when he was plucked from the arena what with his lack-lustre eyes and sallow skin. At least the girl is more polite, offering me a quick curtsey before moving to stand by the President. He explains her presence quickly.

"My niece Prominessa - she'll be joining the Game-makers this year, just in a junior role, so it's good for her to meet you now. With the right attitude, it won't take her long to advance through the ranks."

With this I frown slightly- all out talk about appointing you successor is distressing to anyone- and seemingly noticing this, the President waves away the girl as easily as he called for her and then motions for Immanuel and I to follow him out of the room. I'm glad to leave it, it was getting far too stuffy in there. As we chase after him through a maze of almost never ending white rooms, the air gradually cools and I can see the teenage Victor beside me visibly relax. One command from the President however sends him back into his tense state, his shoulders immediately stiffening and his spine arching.

"You're supposed to be talking."

"I'm Immanuel, Miss Cole-under." The boy stutters out these few words, offering a thin bony hand to shake. I knock it away grimly, seeing the cold look of contempt barely concealed in his dark eyes.

"It's Colander. Ms. Smyth to you anyway. Or Head Game-maker. I know who you are also." With a few long, over-stretched steps I'm safely in front of him, striding off after the President without having to face the stare of a child who's seen and caused death; killing them in the arena when necessary is fine but having to play with the broken things that return is no fun.

"I know who you are as well. You're the one who surrounded the Cornucopia with lava so that no-one could reach it. You're the one who poisoned half of the Sponsor gifts. You're the one who caused the rock fall that killed Jenny and…" He stops suddenly looking at the motionless silhouette of the President's back. As he glances at the floor, I consider that he seems to have more fight than a lot of the non-Career Victors, something that rapidly makes this thin body far more attractive while it still has some backbone. I break the silence with a light chuckle, probably the first real laugh that has passed through my lips for several weeks.

"Aren't you glad for it? After all if I hadn't done anything, you wouldn't be here!"

"What do you mean?" He snaps back, suddenly sounding like a trapped animal. "I won without any interference from _you."_

"Oh, did you really? So when you were about to be bloodily murdered by Caleb you escaped without any of our help?"

The familiar dull, clouded film covers his eyes as he thinks back to the arena. In particular, the third night. He had settled in a small cave just off one of the main tunnels with his allies- the girl from Five and the boy from Eight- and despite having organised a watch, all three were asleep at midnight- when the lava flow had started. They all managed to escape, getting to higher ground quickly enough but the flowing molten rock had incinerated their shadow- a tough Career from Two who had been the favourite right up until he was burnt to ash as he prepared to slit their throats. Killing him off had really shaken everything up and extended the games to nearly three weeks instead of several days. Plus, I'd had a thousand denarii on him dying early on with one-to-a-million odds.

My straightforwardness seems to have disturbed him and for a few minutes I'm treated to a mixture of un-intelligible rubbish and insults until a pair of sturdy Peacekeepers arrive to take the ghost of a boy away. I treat it all with a very brusque, practical attitude, ignoring it all and barely reacting to any of it. My resolve waivers slightly when he mentions his pet cat but I stay strong until the hand of the President rests firmly upon my shoulder and I know that whatever he planned is now over.

"Am I needed to stay?"

I don't look around but I can imagine the lined face of the President pressing out new creases as he stares down at the nape of my neck. My question is rewarded with a curt no and a further enquiry as to leaving leads to the man once more navigating us through a twisting mess of passageways. It seems like only moments later that we break out from under the unfriendly artificially light and out into the darkness where the skyline is ridged with the towering shapes of hundreds of exquisitely detailed and made buildings.

As we stand under the protruding balcony of the Presidential Mansion we are shielded from the rain but I can't resist stretching just a single hand out into the cool air to let the soothing water stream across my palm and trickle down my arm. As it dances across my bare skin it feels like its sweeping away all of the pent up frustration of the night- first the over-excited prep team then the stifling fan-boys and finally the President, Prominessa and Immanuel. I'm still careful not to let it drip onto my dress, the satin and suede would be ruined if I did. Things stay like that for a while until the President rises from the marble wall and makes his excuses about having to return to his guests. Before he leaves, there's one question that I dread not asking.

"Did I pass?" I try to keep my voice level, sounding like I was just asking him to pass a fresh glass of champagne. "Did I pass the test?"

The President turns to look at me as he balances at the top of the steps, looking down at me with the faint moonlight glinting off his hunter's eyes. Seeing him standing there, outlined against the cold stone is like watching a predator about to pounce on his prey and I wonder whether it might have been better not to have asked. The answer might not be a nice one.

"What test Miss Colander?" He smiles at my obvious discomfort. There is nothing more terrifying in this world than that clean, exact smile. "I will need an initial draft of the plans for the Games at the end of the month. Work hard."

With that he's gone, disappeared back into the darkness of the mansion. I am left with nothing but the sound of water splashing onto the cobbles and the irregular flashes of light and explosive noise as companions; compared with the world hidden within the mansion, a world of concealed tests, long, convoluted games and petty rivalries it seems quiet and boring. I wonder how any of them manage it- balancing meeting their aims with thwarting their opponents, I wonder how I manage.

Smiling, I signal for one of the waiting cars to take me back into the city and to my luxurious apartment. It rolls up quickly having made only a short gliding journey up the hill and when it arrives, a silent Avox hurries to hand me a parasol. Taking it, I hurry across the unsheltered divide between the mansion and the open car door before the rain can soak through the thin cotton and as I slide into the beautifully lined interior the Avox moves to retrieve the parasol and close the door.

Just before the door clicks shut, a single bolt of lightning jumps down from the sky illuminating the dark grey clouds. The following peal of thunder is almost deafening but it still doesn't drown out the twelve singing chimes that ring out after it. Midnight.

How time flies.

* * *

**_The tribute form is below and on my profile, pm me any tributes- please do not put them in reviews. _**

**_Well, I've gone pre-THG with the 32nd Games. That means Careers and parents/older siblings who lived through the dark days! Immanuel is from District Six (not that it will change the chances of those Tributes, they just get the new mentor) and Twelve hasn't won yet. _**

**_Okay, I closed the first round of submission on Sunday with exactly 2 tributes submitted during the week. I had a semi-decent amount of people reading but only 2 Tributes... They are brilliant tributes and they've given me a very good idea for the later plot but it's hard to keep writing when I have barely any characters. (In total, I've had 4 tributes submitted and I've put in 4 of my own to write the D1/D2 Reapings. I thought getting Tributes was the easy part of writing these things...) _**

**_So please if you read this, submit. As I wrote earlier, if half of the people who read this submitted I would have more than enough, being able to fill almost all of the spots with just a few bloodbaths for me to add. Also, some reviews would be nice!_**

**_If you want to submit, there will be a list of open places at the bottom of the chapters and I will accept Tributes for any of them. Obviously, I need Tributes for the lower districts to start with. I will try and update with a new chapter every week or so (this may slow down a LOT when I return to uni to one every couple of months or so but I'll try pre-write stuff so I just have to post it) and if I don't have a Tribute when necessary, I'll put one of my own in. None of my tributes will win, don't worry._**

**_I will be using this AN to post any new info (non-related to a chapter) which requires a lot of space but I'll put a reminder at the bottom of the latest chapter if new stuff is put here. It's just to try keep other chapters free of bulky non-chapter-related ANs as I'm not a fan of those._**

**_Many thanks! (and may the odds be ever in your favour!)_**

* * *

**_Into the Darkness Tribute Form-_**

Please copy this into a pm; starred fields are compulsory, others are optional.

*Name

*Age

*preferred District

*bloodbath?

*three words to describe them

token

preferred weapon

*Background (family, friends, history etc)

*Personality

*appearance

*strengths

*weaknesses

Reaped (and reaction)/Volunteered (and reason).

Would they try to join the Careers?

thoughts on alliances

training strategy

games strategy

any additional information (suggestions for goodbyes, interview etc)

* * *

**Current Tributes:**

D1: Diatima and Trypho Aleto

D2: Thyra Denver and Cadfael Slater

D4: Kodiak 'Kodi' Caisson and Aisling Rekved

D7: Aivilo Woodard

D10: Ty Markham

* * *

**Current open spots: all but the above.**


	2. District One Reapings

**District One Reapings**

* * *

**One week before the Reaping...**

* * *

**_Diatima Aleto (15)_**

_The jealous younger sister and wanna-be Career._

Alone in my room I sit watching the TV, flicking across the channels. On each of them re-runs of a different Hunger Games are being shown and as I jump between them the sounds of battle and death intermingle with a hissing static noise. Most don't interest me and I barely pause on them, instead skipping onto the next almost immediately but a few bring back vivid memories; as my only yearly staple the Games have become the easiest way to measure time and, anyway, a lot of my life has been tied up with them. I can re-live the most important parts of my life, sitting here watching TV. Year by year, Game by Game.

The first of interest that I stumble upon is the twenty-first- the first Games I watched in full- but my memories of it are fuzzy and blurred so after a few tantalising minutes watching a couple of scrawny idiots running through a forest I reach for the remote again, ready to find another. I stop briefly to watch a few snippets of the twenty-fifth as it's the Quarter Quell yet even the rule change isn't enough to hold my attention. Instead, I choose to watch the twenty-third.

The re-run is just beginning with a few preliminary clips of interviews with the Head-Gamemaker but it soon moves onto show the District One Reapings. In my head I can see myself standing there in the crowd, aged just six, watching as children are called out to die. Then the extra-ordinary happens- not one but two Volunteers. Elation grips the crowd both on the screen and within my memories as the girl and boy announce their intention to win the Games for the pride of our District in front of us all. I went home that night with a surprising feeling of anticipation of victory rather than the normal dread; I was excited to see that there were children ready to sacrifice themselves to win the ultimate glory and I had no doubts about their success. As the re-run continues it begins to tell the story of a group of select warriors from One and Two who, led by the District One male Phaedrus captured the hearts of the Capitol citizens with their charm and skill. The next few minutes however are filled with boring clips of kids dressed in ridiculous costumes to 'impress' the Capitol for the pointless chariot rides and interviews.

Finally the pre-Games preparations are done and the Games begin. The camera follows Phaedrus as he rises up into the arena and the battlefield is revealed as a vast, barren wasteland. Before I know it the Bloodbath has begun and the newly formed Career alliance is racing towards the Cornucopia to retrieve their weapons before turning to face the incoming Tributes. Every blow they land is as fresh as when I first saw it and I can feel the familiar excitement building up inside me. For two weeks I had sat captivated in front of the TV watching as Phaedrus and his allies carved through their opponents before turning on each other in a massive free-for-all finale. The image of Phaedrus cutting down his last opponent before standing triumphant as District One's newest Victor was burned into my memory forever. One boy standing over the bodies of his enemies. One boy who had fought the toughest of battles and survived. A Victor. On the screen there are clips of the celebrations but they can't truly capture those moments. The way that everyone rushed out onto the streets celebrating together no matter who they were; the speeches; the welcoming ceremony when our newest Victor returned. Film will never truly be able to re-create those moments.

That's the end of the re-run and the TV moves on to show the next scheduled repeat of the Games. My memories don't end there though- they're just beginning- and I can't stop them from appearing unbidden now. I remember how the next months saw a dramatic increase in kids wanting to train at the Academies after Phaedrus's success- I myself ran down to eagerly sign up the moment I turned seven. Entire classes will filled with over-excited kids wanting to continue the Victor's legacy and suddenly training for the Games went from being something outcasts did to being something admirable. My first day at the Training Centre was filled with meeting new friends and learning new skills. For once I felt accepted and accredited for my achievements, no matter how small. Years of neglect had made me forget how wonderful it felt to be appreciated.

It all came crashing down around me the moment I returned home though- Mother and Father were waiting for me, ready to drag me into the kitchen to lecture me. Immediately my hopes of forging my own path to recognition are crushed. I was told that the Careers were violent usurpers of social standing who would destroy the entire District if they got the chance; they were a fad which would die out quickly anyway.

Gripping the grey sheets of my bed I can feel the usual feeling of fury welling up. After years of being ignored, when I finally found some way to define myself it was torn away from me by the very people who should have been supporting me. They forced me down one path with no choice of my own. The injustice of it all burns; it burns deep within my soul.

Why me? What did I ever do to deserve any of it? How did I earn this fate worse than death?

The answer is simple.

I was younger. I was female.

I was not my brother.

Trypho. The perfect, studious son ready to inherit his father's business. I didn't matter as long as he was alive, so long as there was a male heir to succeed our father as the owner of District One's largest gold mine and gold processing plant. Our glorious father- the man who could happily spoil his son but beat his daughter to near death.

Father is the current problem but Trypho is the root of it. I know that if I can just get rid of him then maybe I could live a normal life with my parents. No, I would live a normal life with my parents; they would love me, care for me and treat me as their daughter. It would be perfect, the three of us living happily together. I would be recognised by my parents for everything I accomplished and there would even be the opportunity for me to inherit the mine after I was able to show them everything I was capable of. I just needed to get rid of my brother.

Unconsciously, my hand moves to pick up the TV remote. As my fingers stumble across the buttons I realise that my hands are trembling. Whether it's with anger or excitement I can't tell as I fight back furious tears.

Without hesitation, I search through the channels looking for one thing in particular- the re-run of the 29th Games. Eventually I find it and I watch the District One Reapings almost emotionlessly as I detachedly remember the fear and desperation of standing in the Reaping pens for the first time. That's not what I'm looking for however and I have to wait several minutes more before the clip I want is shown. What it shows is the perfect way to dispose of someone.

Trypho Aleto is going into the Hunger Games. There, my twin brother will die.

_**Trypho Aleto (15).**_

_The rich, studious older brother._

Walking home after school is pretty much the only free time that I get for myself- that and sleeping but sleeping doesn't count. Wrapped up in my school's thick woollen blazer and with a shirt and tie I'm sweltering under the hot sun but I don't rush too much, wanting to spend as long outside by myself as possible.

The streets I walk through are all residential with clean, detached brick houses lining their sides. This is the better part of One after all. From inside I can hear the sounds of laughter and joyful conversation. Every so often, a young toddler or baby plays in the carefully cut grass of the houses' lawns; a group of older kids brush past me as they race off to the park, only pausing to shout an apology before hurrying off again. All of these happy, smiling kids with their families. I envy them. I envy the fact that they can just get up, go to school, come home and play without any worries, without any pressure from their parents to succeed. Sometimes I even envy my sister, Diatima, for the freedom she has because of our parent's indifference to her.

Sighing I quicken my pace knowing that if I'm not careful I'll be late home; if I am the privilege of being able to make my own way back from school will be revoked. Cutting into a back-alley saves me a few minutes and running along the river embankment saves a few more so that I just make it to our imposing front door on time. I knock on the painted green wood and the door is opened by our housekeeper- Mrs Tremolo- who smiles at me shyly before waving me inside hurriedly. She doesn't say anything but waits for me to hand my blazer to her- which I do- but only after carefully folding it for her myself.

"Is Diatima back?" I note quickly that her coat is missing from the polished metal rack behind the door and Mrs Tremolo's slight shake of the head confirms my thoughts. I expect that she's hanging around with her Training Academy friend Giin in some dirty side street getting him to teach her to fight like a Career. Despite the fact she doesn't realise I know this secret of hers and she's always been hostile to me, I've never told anyone; it's the least I can do for her when I do nothing else to improve her situation.

Removing my shoes so as not to ruin the thick, carpeted rug on the floor I begin to make my way down the corridor, heading for my room. A few quiet words from the homely woman behind me stop me in my tracks however.

"The Master would like to see you in his study, master Trypho". Head bowed, she looks expressionlessly at the floor. "He is waiting for you there now. You should go immediately."

I scowl slightly but never-the-less pivot on my toes and head up the wooden stairs by the door. Through the thin soles of my cotton socks I can feel the coldness of the dark wood and the smooth, shiny surface of its varnish coating as I steadily climb up to the second story of the house. I pause briefly at the top to straighten my tie and brush a few strands of my almost white hair out from behind my glasses before raising my hand to knock on the door directly in front of me.

"Come in."

With a single touch the thick piece of wood swings open to reveal my father sitting at his desk, silhouetted against a large panelled glass window. My socked feet make faint thumps on the deep blue carpet, the only sound in the room as I stride forward to take my place several paces in front of his desk. Standing as he taught me- straight backed, head held up and with arms folded neatly behind the back- I wait silently for him to speak as he studies me, his faced cloaked in shadow and resting grimly on his clenched hands.

Midas Aleto. Debatably one of the richest men in District One, certainly one of the most influential. An intelligent, ruthless businessman with few scruples. We share many of the same physical traits- shoulder length bleach blond hair, lime green eyes, the need to wear glasses- yet personality wise we couldn't be more different.

"Trypho." As he speaks he picks up a translucent piece of paper, holding it to the light to read. He stops talking to skim through the details before looking back at me and continuing. "Your school report arrived this morning."

"Yes father. You will notice that I scored the highest in my year in History and Classics and I was in the top five in both Geology and English." I dip my head slightly, waiting for the inevitable. My grades in all of my classes were more than good but there's no way they will be up to his harsh standards. I try not to show any emotion though as he prefers; 'emotion is weaknesses' he says.

"Fifth in Geology is in-adequate and History and Classics are barely worthwhile subjects. Economics, Politics and Management are the ones that matter and you barely made the school rankings in them."

"Father you must remember that there are other children who go to this school- some of them are prodigies who already work for the Capitol! To make the rankings and top any subject is a great achievement in itself and I ranked twenty-seventh overall in a year of a hundred and forty-three students- surely that is something to be proud of?" I try not to frown, wanting to say that it is impossible to expect me to miraculously top the year in all three of the most difficult courses, especially when I have to work obsessively just to keep an A pass in them. I am no genius, I want to tell him, just because you were and assumed that I would be too doesn't make me one. I cannot however.

"It matters not how good your opponents are, only how good you are!" He rises from his chair so that he leans over it, his hands firmly pressed into its leather covering. He speaks louder too, so that he is almost shouting at me. "You must be the best! There is no prize for second place! When you succeed me there is no room for failure." Suddenly, the volume of his voice drops so that he is talking almost normally- at least normally for him with a haughty, un-interested tone. "I pay good money for that school for you- you must work harder. I expect you to improve your ranking significantly by next the end of term."

"Yes father." My reply is meek and despite my timidness I still resolve to try and fulfil his wishes. Doing anything else would only incur his wrath.

Father sits back down in his chair slightly more stiffly than he used to and almost waves me away before seemingly remembering something.

"You're not thinking of copying this silly fad of Volunteering next week are you?" Anyone else would have laughed at the idea of me- a slightly pudgy, fifteen-year-old weakling Volunteering for the Games- but looking into my father's eyes I can tell he is deadly serious.

"No father." I almost sound shocked, shaking my head violently and forgetting where I am momentarily.

"Good. I would hate to see all of the work I put in into training you as my successor go to waste. I have as usual paid one of the workers to have their son Volunteer for you should you be Reaped. Your new Reaping outfit has been laid out in your room for you."

With that I am dismissed and I leave father sitting working at his desk as if I had never been to see him. Walking carefully down the stairs so as not to make a give-away noise by running down them excitedly I make my way to my room as fast as possible. When I burst through my door I spot the afore-mentioned new set of clothes; waiting for me is a dark three-piece suit, identical to the one father wears.

* * *

**On the day of the Reaping...**

* * *

_**Trypho**_

I fidget with the cuffs on my new suit while waiting in line to sign in for the Reaping. The thin cotton fabric is soaking up all the moisture from my arms and clinging to my skin uncomfortably in the humid air; the sheer number of people packed into this close space is quickly heating up the atmosphere. As the line of kids in front of me slowly shortens I can hear the noise of adults trying to find the best spot to watch the Reaping, not wanting to miss out on seeing the next pair of Careers rush off to their deaths spectacularly. I expect that it will probably be as showy as ever with a whole load of kids fighting for the places but it's almost certain I won't know any of them- unless of course Diatima's friend is thinking of doing it. Personally, I just want the entire thing to be over so that I can go spend the rest of the holiday by myself. After all, there's not much chance that I will be picked- I only have the minimum four slips in and most Careers take out as much Tesserae as possible to increase their chances of being Reaped as tribute and not having to compete to Volunteer- and even if I am someone will absolutely take my place.

"Name, age and hand." The white clad Peacekeeper waves a dis-interested hand in my general direction and I reluctantly extend my finger so that they can take the necessary blood sample. The thin needle pricks my skin but I don't feel the slight pain until the hollow metal rod is withdrawn. After I state my name and age myself and the scanner confirms it I'm waved past and into the cordoned off area specifically set aside for those eligible to be picked.

We're supposed to head straight to our section- girls on onside of the aisle, boys on the other and then subdivided by age- after entering but a number of kids still mill around in the central aisle talking in small groups. Most are Careers busy boasting to their hanger-ons about how they'll be Tribute but I also spot my sister talking to a tall looking kid. Giin. The pair of them look mismatched together- small blond haired, blue eyed Diatima with her fine cotton dress compared with Giin the muscular Career in a ripped leather jacket and with dyed blood-red hair, two years older than her- but they look happy chatting together. As I pass them to reach my section Diatima shoots me her usual disapproving glare although it seems more fierce today and Giin just scowls so I hurry on without saying anything.

When I do find the rest of the fifteen year-old boys I have to squeeze through to the back to get enough space and I also then have to make a few embarrassed apologies before the groups around me will return to nervously discussing the upcoming events. Everyone except me seems to either have someone to comfort them or is comforting someone else and for once I begin to feel anxious about the Games. Sure father had paid some kid to take my place if I was Reaped and no-one else Volunteered but would someone who grew up in poverty, slaving under my father agree to take my place in the Games for money? I know that there are some children in the District that grew up in abject poverty but would they throw away their life to save the son- who they would naturally assume to be a spoiled brat- of one of the wealthiest men in the District? Thinking about this makes me wonder how most kids would feel about the Reapings- the ones who had to take Tesserae for their family to survive and had upwards of thirty, forty slips. Out of sheer nervousness I begin to look around me for someone who, like me, is standing quietly alone so that we can perhaps share our fears and possibly feel better about everything. There doesn't seem to be anybody like that near me however and while I'm still searching the characteristic ringing sound of someone tapping a microphone signals the beginning of the Reaping ceremony.

"Welcome! Welcome! Welcome to the District One Reaping for the Thirty-Second annual Hunger Games!" Our Escort- one Vanillas Eledric- stands flamboyantly behind the microphone, his hands thrust into the air as if he is trying to reach the sun. A manic grin plasters his chalk white face as he stares down at us from the stage looking like a demented clown in a violet frock coat and frilled shirt. He must be popular in the Capitol though for him to be here in District One. "Now, in a few moments we will be choosing two fine new Tributes to compete in the Games but first- a short film to remind you all of why we have this wonderful competition!"

The screens hanging by the sides of the Justice Building switch from showing the Capitol's seal to showing the initial images of a dramatized version of the Dark Days. The film is shown every year and despite the general loyalty of One to the Capitol the crowd is always slightly restless during its showing, mainly because they just want to see the Tributes picked. A lot of people don't even see the film as relating to us anymore with our preferential status and firmly entrenched subservience to the Capitol.

As it ends, Vanillas walks once more up to the microphone and begins speaking. "We'll be choosing our male Tribute first this year- just a little exciting change for you all! And remember- no Volunteering until after our lucky boy has confirmed that he will accept one!"

I can feel my fists clenching involuntarily and I watch unblinkingly as the Escort positions himself above the bowl. In amongst the thousands of slips it holds are four with my name on them. Slowly a pair of fingers are lowered in and removed holding a single piece of paper. Vanillas unfolds it as dramatically as possible and opens his mouth to announce the one chosen.

"Trypho Aleto!"

It's me. I have been picked. Against all of the odds I have been selected as Tribute to die.

I can feel my body shaking in fear, I'm unable to move- forced to stand rigid. In the corners of my eyes I can feel thick drops of salty water beginning to well up. I'm scared. I'm terrified. My brain is reeling, unable to process the fact that my name has been called, the fact that I will be forced to fight for my survival. I gasp for breath, feeling like the air around me has turned to water and is now pressing down on me with unbelievable weight. Surely there must be a way out.

Nervously I glance at those around me, wondering if I would be able to hide within them and pretend I wasn't there. Not much chance of that- my looks are relatively distinctive and without exception they are backing away from me, looking at me accusingly, almost as if they were afraid of me. A few give me a gentle nudge in the general direction of the stage. How can they stand there happily and send me to my death like this?

Thinking suddenly of father I realise that he would disapprove of this cowardly behaviour. Breathing carefully in and out, I remind myself that someone could still replace me as a Volunteer, there is no need to panic. Uncertainly, I pick up one foot and place it on the ground in front of me and I slowly but surely begin to make my way to the stage; about halfway there a group of Peacekeepers surround me and escort me to the base of the wooden steps. I ascend them only to clutch at Vanillas's clammy hand as he leads me across to stand in the centre of the stage. From here I can see everyone standing watching me silently. Scanning their faces I can see the looks of relief or eagerness of the boys in the Reaping Pens and the nervousness of the girls. Caught up as I am I miss Vanillas's question and I have to ask him to repeat it.

"I said, would you like someone to Volunteer for you?"

"Yes!" I can barely say the words quick or loud enough. I want off this stage as fast as I can, I want to go home and live out the rest of my life- I definitely don't want to go into the arena. "Yes! Please, somebody Volunteer!"

Vanillas looks at me, his expression clearly betraying his wonder at how someone like me can exist in a Career District. He despises my weakness. "Very well- are there any fine, brave young men who would like to Volunteer for Mister Aleto?"

I expect numerous hands to shoot up, voices shouting the two glorious words 'I Volunteer!'. I expect boys to start rushing into the centre aisle to race and fight their way to the stage. All in all, I expect a pack of Careers to fight over the glory of being Tribute until one is awarded the position and I am free to leave.

There is silence.

**_Diatima_**

I can barely stop myself smiling when Trypho's name is drawn. I mean what was the probability of that? Well after all of the Tesserae I secretly took out in his name not four-in-whatever - try forty-four-in-whatever.

Things get better when no-one Volunteers the moment Vanillas asks for one. Glancing across to see Giin I catch him returning my gaze smiling; being good friends with the boy chosen to Volunteer by the Training Academies certainly has its advantages too- kids won't oppose him if he forces them to not Volunteer. They're too scared of retribution from the Academy. A lone hand does begin to raise from the thirteen year-old section as Vanillas begins to prepare to choose the female Tribute causing me a moment of panic but there are a few faint sounds of scuffling and it drops without the fateful words being said. I assume the kid father paid off to replace Trypho should an incident like this occur has been forcibly prevented from Volunteering by a few of Giin's younger followers. Now all I have to do is to wait for some soppy kid to be picked, a tough Career girl to Volunteer and I can go home and watch Trypho die on live television before father and mother realise it was me who deserved their attention all these years. However, instead of Vanillas moving to take a slip from the Reaping bowl he draws a thin envelope from within his jacket. Opening it he begins to read off the piece of paper inside. There is nothing of his previous exaggerated manner, the words he speaks are deadly serious and his tone matches that.

"The Hunger Games were created to punish the Districts for their rebellion by choosing two of their children randomly and causing them to fight to the death. They were not created for the purpose of ridding the Districts of undesirable children." There are several squeals as a contingent of Peacekeepers surrounds our half of the Reaping pens, guns levelled to point at us. The sound of heavy footfalls ring across the otherwise silent square as teams of the guards push their way into the tight cluster of bodies around me, obviously searching for someone. As Vanillas continues nervously I begin to worry about where this is going. "It has come to the attention of the Capitol that a resident of this District has been attempting to fix the Reaping by taking out Tesserae rations under the names of other residents. This cannot be tolerated!" I suddenly realise with horror that they must be talking about me- somehow they had discovered my attempts to rid myself of my brother. The chances of someone else doing the same are minute and I curse whatever gave me away. I look to escape but it's pointless as pairs of heavy, gloved hands seize me and begin to drag me out of the crowd and towards the stage. For a short while I try to fight, squirming in their grip but their hold on me is too strong and I just end up hurting myself.

Everything I try is futile- no-one will help me now, not even Giin- I may as well just give up and accept my fate. Should I have really expected to escape notice completely, I had been defying the Capitol after-all. I let all of my feelings of anger go and allow the hollow, empty feeling of disappointment consume me. There are slight undertones of guilt too possibly. I let the guards pull me across the square without any more resistance; I will accept my punishment, most likely it will just be a few lashes.

The wood of the stage is rough to touch as I am thrown onto it unceremoniously by the Peacekeepers. The Escort glances down at me momentarily before speaking again. I half-heartedly scowl back at him as he talks.

"Diatima Aleto is guilty of attempting to rig the Reaping so that her brother- Trypho Aleto- would be chosen as Tribute with the intent of killing him. Normally the punishment for such a rebellion would be a public execution by hanging however, an exception in this case has been made." I really don't like the sound of this. "Diatima Aleto will represent District One this year as Tribute. Her fate will remind the citizens of Panem what the Hunger Games truly are- a punishment. That is all."

I am seized again by the Peacekeepers and pulled away from the shouting crowd and towards the Justice Building. They are angry that there were no Volunteers, that two weak tributes were chosen. They don't care about my 'rebellion'.

Before I am pulled into the darkness inside completely I catch a single look at my brother. He is angry, far angrier than I could have expected. He looks at me accusingly, like he wants to rip me to pieces before putting me back together and doing it again and again. I deserve it I guess; I'm beginning to wonder if this was worth it.

* * *

_**All of the Reapings will follow this format with a selection of Goodbyes to follow. If your character doesn't get so much in the Reaping/goodbyes its because I'll be writing more for them later on in the Capitol. **_

_**The Character tag-lines are based on the **__'three words to describe them__**' part of the tribute form and they do mean that you can get a decent idea of a character without reading their introductory pov. I don't recommend it but you can.**_

_**Many thanks!**_

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_**Current open spots- all but D1m, D1f, D4m.**_


	3. District Two Reapings

**District Two Reapings**

* * *

_One week before the Reaping..._

* * *

**Thyra Denver**

_The fatalist hunting for vengeance_

"So you're dead set on trying to Volunteer again this year?"

"Damn it Lintel! I've already told you yes!" I snap back, possibly harsher than I should have.

"Thyra…" Chase steps between the pair of us, his voice soothing. His warm fingers brush against mine as he clasps my hand. "You know neither of us will stop you, we'll even help you if that's what you want. Lintel and I just don't want you to throw your life away…"

Can't they see that maybe that's what I want? No of course they can't- they can't see past their warm fuzzy world filled with hugs and kisses and family love. Well, I've not had that for years- not since Prima died in the Games- so I'm going to make sure I'm Tribute before I turn eighteen and take my vengeance in the Games and if I die trying, fine.

"Won't you just give up Chase? I'm not interested!" I snatch my hand back and he looks at me like a hurt puppy dog. "Just get the staff so we can go back to practising."

My friends exchange a glance- a worried one that they think I'll miss- but Chase still walks across the studio to pick up the thin rod that we use as a sword, staff or whatever weapon I want to fight against. We square-off and I try to imagine that the thin pieces of dowels I'm holding are real metal- a glistening pair of sai. Lintel sits on one of the benches that line the edges of Dad's sculpture workshop.

I let Chase get in a few easy blows that I block clinically before catching the staff between the monouchi and yoku of my left sai. Using the opening, I lunge forward with the tsukagashira of the right to punch him on the temple. He stumbles backwards and I use his hesitation to strike again- this time with both blades- ramming the tsume into his gut so that he clumsily drops to the ground winded. With a real sai, the first blow would have probably shattered his skull but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"Again."

Chase stands, still panting from my last blow. He takes an offensive stance and prepares to attack. This time I don't give him the opportunity to finish the blow, parrying the downwards slash so that it is deflected towards the ground allowing me to step in and use the blunt edge of the monouchi to strike the base of his neck. He ends up crumpled on the ground, whimpering quietly. I'm not finished though, I need to keep fighting. The adrenaline racing through my blood won't be satisfied otherwise.

"Again."

"Thyra, he's had enough!" Lintel moves to stand protectively over her friend. I can see determination burning in her eyes, a rare feeling for her. "If you're fighting anyone, it'll be me not him."

Interesting- she's never made this offer before. I wonder what it'll be like to fight her- a new opponent is always fun.

"Fine." I try to keep the excitement out of my voice. "I'll fight you. Take the weapon."

Lintel crosses over to Chase and disentangles the pole from him despite his protests. When she stands in front of me she tries to copy how he normally stands but I can see her hands shaking and when I make a few jabs with the sai she flinches visibly. May as well end this quickly then, she's not going to be much of a challenge. A single kick to her chest is enough to send her flying away from me so that she lands against the wall with a loud thud. She sobs and coughs a bit but I don't offer any consolation.

"Thyra!" A man's voice from outside of the studio. It's loud but not angry- Dad. The door opens and he walks in, surveying the damage. Looking at the limp forms of my friends' bodies he helps them to their feet before walking them across to me. "I think you need to prepare for school now, show your friends out will you?"

He leaves and I help my friends out of the studio and down the corridor to the front door. They glance at me as I hold the door for them but leave without saying anything. I don't shut the door immediately though and end up catching their conversation as they walk down the street.

"She's changed hasn't she- since her sister died?"

"Yeah."

"Then why have you stuck by her, all these years? Nine years Chase? Nine years of her using us as a punch-bag."

"I don't know, maybe I just see some good still in her… What about you?"

"I only stayed because you did."

**Cadfael Slater (18).**

_The Career prodigy ashamed of his past._

I tighten my grip on my war hammer, feeling the worn leather warm against my skin. After years of use by only myself the supple material has moulded itself to the shape of my hands so that the heavy weight feels like an extension of my own arm. It feels good, really good holding it.

Grinning and surveying my forested surroundings I am continuously on the look out for opponents so when there's a bright flash of red by a tree trunk I react instinctively. Dropping a hand to my belt, I pull out a small ball and blade, throwing the ball so that it hits the ground just behind the tree with a bright flash. The shocked and blinded tribute dashes out in front of me and my knife is soon embedded in their leg, preventing them from running. In a few quick steps I'm standing over the nameless form and bringing down the flat face of my mighty hammer to split their skull open. Thick, warm, blood spills from the wound. They die instantly.

I'm about to move on but I just notice the slight breeze behind me and automatically duck so that the shruiken goes flying over my head. Rolling onto my feet, I turn to face my next opponent. He is tall- taller than me- and holds a long, single edged, curved blade in one hand. A katana. Anticipating a fast strike at my head I bring my hammer up to block and have to lower it rapidly when he strikes at my legs instead. Unable to block fully in time I step back, dodging instead before swinging at his free hand. He of course parries with the flat of the katana but the weight of my blow reverberates down the blade, momentarily stunning him as his wrist is shaken and I use the opportunity to flick my wrists and pivot the hammer one-eighty degrees so that it catches his leading leg. I hear the sound of shattering bone and my opponent drops to his knees; I don't let my guard down though as he draws a long knife left-handed and stabs at my calf. Side-stepping I kick him under the chin before disabling him with a back-handed blow using the spiked side of the hammer. He gurgles a bit, clutching at his chest before slumping into the dust. The familiar cannon explosion heralds his death. Twenty-two Tributes down, one left.

Glancing about my final opponent could be anywhere. Thus, I carefully proceed down the track I've been following as silently as possible- and on-guard. Minutes pass like hours, everything seeming far slower than it is. It feels like I can hear every falling leaf land, the buzz of every insect. What I don't hear is the faint swish of the bolt aimed at my back.

I don't topple to the ground- not quite- but clutch at the projectile embedded just above my hip. The pain is incredible as I press down on it, trying to stop the blood, which is rapidly coating my hand. I spin round, ready to face my assailant but no one's there. Moments later I'm hit by another bolt, this time just below my right shoulder blade. A third catches me on my brow leaving a bloody trail dripping into my eye.

The attacks are coming too fast from too many different locations for a single person to manage alone and un-aided. Simply it's a trap. I hate traps. What's wrong with proper face-to-face combat? Ambushes are okay but traps like this are just cowardly on the part of the user.

I guard myself as well as possible while searching for the person responsible. They have to be close and I use a few of my small explosive balls to try and force them to move. The smoke really lowers visibility, covering the entire area but I'm rewarded with the clear silhouette of my opponent standing by some rocks. Surging forward, I power towards them as quickly as possible, bringing my hammer down to crush their skull. It couldn't be easier. Yet my weapon doesn't meet the expected resistance, my opponent doesn't drop.

There's a sticky, warm liquid in my mouth. Spitting some out its red. Blood. But I'm not injured that bad am I? I am. Searching hands find the sharp tip of the crossbow bolt protruding from my stomach, the cloth around the wound soaked in blood.

My vision starts to blur, my body going into shock. Falling to the ground, the impact sends a piercing noise ringing through my ears. Pain so much pain. Even breathing hurts.

I try to concentrate on sucking air into my lungs, trying to stay alive as long as possible. Not thinking about my opponent coming to finish me off. Fighting the blurred darkness that is pulling at my mind.

I can hear them coming. They're here to kill me. Blind, my hands scrabble across the fallen leaves. There must be something, anything, I can use to defend myself. Soil, leaves, more soil… leather, metal. War hammer. Good.

Opening my eyes everything is hazy. I must wait then until the last moment when I will finally be able to see my opponent before attacking. I will only get one shot. It must count.

They appear over me, crossbow in hand. Tensing, I try to drag the hammer across the ground and swing it at their legs. The hammer slips from my wet hand and tumbles across the leaves before skidding to a stop.

Not good enough. That's all I have time to think before the crossbow bolt pierces my neck.

_Darkness. Darkness and clapping. Wait- why is there clapping?_

I pull off the VR goggles. I'm not in a forest or the arena, I'm in District Two's premiere Training Academy having just taken the Arena Simulation. Seated at the edges of the hall are our Trainers- mainly previous Victors- who've been watching my progress on the now blank projector screen opposite me. On the second level the rest of the Training Cadets are lined up on rows of bleachers.

It wasn't real, it was just a simulation. I didn't just die. Did I?

"Mirror! Mirror and water!"

An assistant automatically dashes through the big pair of swinging doors to fetch the items for me. There are catcalls from the Cadets above, I don't care as I have to check that I'm unhurt.

"Hey Slater!" I glance up to spot another eighteen year-old Cadet leaning over the glass barrier of the upper floor. "Worried that the goggles will have spoiled your gorgeous face? No, wait- if anything they'll have made an improvement! Careful you don't crack that mirror!"

Kaiser's comments set almost all of the Cadets laughing. Idiot rich kids. Kaiser in particular, the only reason he's here is that his parents bribed the Academy officials to let him in after her failed the selection process the second time. The Trainers won't step in though; they say that we should settle our own problems ourselves or leave.

"So what if I'm not a looker, at least I didn't end up crying in front of everyone after being killed in the Bloodbath on the easiest level!" My jibe provokes more laughter as Kaiser blushes before storming off. The Training Academy may be filled with talented rich bastards who bully the less wealthy but at the bottom of the pecking order are the pretentious rich bastards who bought their way here.

With a few words from the Trainers the Cadets are released, hurrying off outside. There is silence again before Ares, the Head Trainer, strides over to me and claps me on the back with a heavy hand. He was the Victor of the twenty-sixth Games when he was sixteen and has certainly retained his powerful body. He's also one of the Victors I really look up to.

"You did good kid. Put in a performance like that in the arena and the Victor's crown is as good as yours."

"But I died."

Ares laughs. "Naw, we put it on the most difficult setting- even returned Victors have a problem getting that far- and that's with practise. To get to the final two on your first attempt is nigh impossible but you still managed it!"

"So I've been picked to Volunteer?" Despite outperforming all of my competitors the entire time I've been training, to hear that I've finally reached my goal is difficult to believe.

"Of course! You won the Ludus Equester didn't you?" Ares takes me by the shoulder and begins guiding me to the door. The attendant is there with the mirror and water; I gulp down the drink but wave away the mirror. I don't need it now. I've spent my entire life training for the Games and now, in a week or so, I'll be Volunteering. Great!

"What about the girls? Is it still Sestina Harte?" She won the female section of the Ludus to get the right to Volunteer. All I know about her is that she trains at the Academia in Hornstone by the sub-mountain Capitol military base- the Legio.

"She pulled out for family reasons and the Consilium Institutio decided not to put forward another candidate. We'll let any Cadet who wants to Volunteer try- after all, why lose a decent Cadet when we've got almost certain Victor material here? We'll just let whoever wants to Volunteer try." He glances at me and laughs again when he sees me scowl- I wanted to know who my partner was so I could make sure they weren't going to drag me down with their weakness. "Don't worry, we'll make sure you get a good ally! Now- you should go tell your family the news, they'll want to congratulate you."

Yeah, right. Dad will be disappointed in me for wanting to go off and slaughter some innocent kids- even when he was the one who initially started me training- and Mom will be dead drunk and senseless. They'll be real proud.

* * *

_Reaping Day..._

* * *

**Thyra**

I wake early on Reaping Day, like I do every year. I'm too excited to sleep so instead I slip out of bed, dress quietly and sneak out of the house. I take a quick look back at the building, taking in the shop's glass display front filled with examples of dad's sculptures, the neat row of curtained windows above and the front door painted to look like marble. Home. Hopefully I won't have to see it again after today, not if I manage to Volunteer.

As I run down the streets of Lapiz- Two's main town- headed for the Academy where I train the sun is just rising, flecking the cobbles with bright red light. It looks almost like they're coated in blood, a good omen for me then. A slight breeze helps cool me as I make my way down the otherwise deserted streets. In a few hours' time they'll be over-run with street vendors and eager crowds celebrating the start of another Hunger Games but right now they'll all mine. The run isn't too far yet by the time I reach the Academy I can feel my heart pounding and the sting of blood rushing to my head. Around me, the residential houses have given way to squat corrugated iron warehouses and the air is thick with stone chippings. As reflected by its location, Collegium Fortes is one of the smallest and most minor Training Academies in Two- only running part time classes after school unlike the elite Academia- but it's still a Training Academy in its own right and it has produced some decent Tributes; even a Victor.

Opening the imposing pair of cast iron doors I'm greeted with the sight of our dojo, which is as empty as the streets outside. I slip off my shoes and replace them with the rubber-soled pair I use for training, placing my normal ones in my backpack before heading over to the weapon stands. There hangs every type of weapon anyone could possibly imagine and then some- swords, spears, axes- everything. Including my sai. The metal is heavy and comforting in my hands as I lift them off their hooks and walk across to stand in the centre of the room. Checking them quickly for damage I run my fingers across the cold metal, finding it as smooth and unblemished as I left them. Good- I hate it when I have to hunt down the idiots who damage my weapons and I always get into trouble when I try showing them how the sai are really used.

Taking up a firm stance I prepare to begin the first of my kata, imagining an opponent before me. Concentrating, I try to complete every single one of the moves accurately and with the mental focus I would need in a fight; no matter how boring I find non-sparring practise I still need perfect technique when using sai. It sucks but it's true. I guess the sai aren't exactly the stereotypical tools of an adrenaline-seeking, bloodthirsty killer.

I practise by myself for the next few hours. As the Reaping approaches a couple of other Cadets appear to train but they generally leave me alone or hastily retreat when I scowl at them; by the time the warning announcement that the Reaping is in an hour is broadcast there's about twenty of us. The announcement causes most of the others to rush off to the showers to preen over themselves and ready themselves should they be picked. I don't bother, knowing that if I make the stage it'll be after fighting it out to get there so there'd be no point prettying myself up even if I wanted to. A nice green cotton shirt over my practise top with my coal black practise trousers is enough and it'll be more practical than anything they've picked. I part reluctantly, part impatiently return the sai to their little ledge and pick up my bag to head down to the square.

Walking through the streets now, I'm bandied about as people push past in a hurry to get good spots for the Reaping. Of course, I do my fair share of pushing and elbowing back and make good time. Reaching the square, I join the long queue to sign in and prepare to wait. My uncharacteristic patience is rewarded with a group of arrogant Academia Cadets jumping in front of me just as I'm about to sign in.

"Hey! Wait your turn!" I catch the loose black sleeve- they're all dressed in the uniform of Academia Ensis- of the nearest Cadet who turns around to scowl at me.

"Watch it pipsqueak. Don't you know that you have the honour of seeing the most likely candidates for Two's Tribute and Victor this year? You should gladly allow us to pass through now!"

I carefully look over the three girls. One redhead and one brunette, their leader- the one who spoke to me- is the tallest of the trio with chin-length hair dyed a dark purple. There's no point doing anything now as the Peacekeepers will stop it but I can make sure to personally take them down in the race to the stage when Volunteering.

"Sure, fine. Take the spot." My voice is dripping with venomous anger. I hate saying it but they'll pay later.

"You're going to let her get away with not apologising and talking to us like that?" The redhead this time. She speaks with some stupid attempt to mimic the Capitol accent. Seriously, if her fighting ability matches her idiocy how did she ever make Schola, let alone Academia level? "Bianca?"

Right. That's enough. I could get over giving up my place for them, knowing that revenge could be easily got but apologising for not liking it? Too far. I think the leader- Bianca- recognises my anger and lashes out at me. Well that's good as it means I can retaliate as I like and I won't have started the fight.

I duck the clumsy swipe at my head and drive my palm into Bianca's solar plexus, like I would with a sai. She drops to the ground coughing. Did I really just take out an Academia Cadet? Awesome! Well no time to dwell on it, Red and Brown are rushing me. I dodge their various punches and kicks, adrenaline now surging through my blood. I haven't enjoyed a fight this much for ages. It's not going to last much longer though as Peacekeepers are hurrying through the crowd to reach us.

Distracted, I miss Brown's kick and I'm knocked back into the waiting arms of Red who quickly pins me against her. I don't bother struggling, I know the hold she's using and there's no painless way to escape. In front of me Brown readies another punch. The explosion of pain in my stomach is incredible but I laugh it off. I've had worse and as Tribute I'll have even worse. Another punch follows, then another. I laugh them all off. Annoyed, Brown snarls, her sweat coated curls sticking to her face before punching me in the mouth. That hurts. I can feel my teeth stinging as they loosen. It's still not a finishing blow though.

"You know if you really want to hurt me you'll have to try a little harder." That winds her up a bit more. It's a pity that she gets to make her fury-inspired blow though as the pain from that might have been interesting. Instead, she howls as her entire body shakes with coursing electricity. Well that's the Peacekeepers here; couldn't they have been a bit slower?

I feel Red's grip loosen and I shake myself from her hold. The surrounding crowd is standing back, staring at the four of us. Pulling off my shirt, I use it to mop up the blood trickling from my mouth. Now everyone can see the thin indigo long-sleeved training top I wear. Including the three Academia Cadets who are now being dragged off by the Peacekeepers.

"Collegium Scum!" Redhead again. Well I don't like them much either. However, they won't be Volunteering now and it even looked like it would have been their last year. What a pity.

Approaching the Peacekeeper's desk, I meet no more resistance and I'm quickly waved through. Here, there's no sign that there was any fight just a minute or two before except for the kids stopping their gossip to stare at my bloody face and clothes. Walking past the sixteen year-old section, I squeeze into the back of the eighteens before carefully negotiating my way to the front. Despite being two years younger than the rest, I don't attract much attention for that as the girls just assume that I'm a bit small for my age and as for not recognising me, well there's three major towns in Two and hundreds of kids in each one so there's plenty of people they don't know. Even with the risks of being recognised, I get myself a perfect spot for Volunteering, as close to the stage as possible. Anyway, there's no time for anyone to complain as the seats on stage are filled by our previous Victors and the mayor with our Escort Cardellia Spats stepping up the microphone.

"District Two- aren't I pleased to see you? Well, another year, another Hunger Games! Are you ready to find out which two strong Tributes will be representing you in the arena for the Thirty-Second Hunger Games?" There are excited cheers as Cardellia pauses. Honestly, her squeaky voice is even more grating than Red's. And the skimpy white costume that is obviously meant to be a Peacekeepers but rides up to reveal more pink skin whenever she moves is just stupid. "Well, you just have to wait another few minutes- just long enough to watch this wonderful film from the Capitol!"

The film. I actually quite enjoy it- the blood, the fighting and all that- and I'm disappointed to see it end. However, now it's over its almost time to Volunteer. Almost as if she was reading my thoughts Cardellia walks over to the Reaping bowls and with a quick 'ladies first' reaches down to pluck out a name.

"Malika Flint!"

There's a rustling near the back of the crowd as a thin girl emerges from the thirteen-year-old section. She walks as slowly as she can down the central aisle; as she passes me she smiles smugly. Talk about lapping up as much attention as possible. At least her 'cute' look with its pigtails and frilly dress makes it unlikely that she'll refuse any Volunteers. As soon as she confirms it, I shoot my hand up into the air and shout "I Volunteer!"

Jumping over the rope I race towards the stage. Behind me I can hear the soft thud of running feet. With just a few paces to go I feel fingers scrabbling at my back. Immediately I spin round, ducking down and sticking my leg out to knock their legs from out under them. The Academia Cadet jumps over it but I use it as a chance to fling dust in her eyes before turning back to sprint to the stage. Somehow a pair of what looks to be fifteen year-olds have snuck past the main fight in the aisle and are now battling each other as they race up the steps; luckily for me I don't need to use the steps and just vault onto the stage. Breathless, I look down at all my envious competitors.

"So- it looks like we got a fighter this year!" Cardellia looks me up and down, focusing mainly on the irregular patches of dried blood on my face. "Why don't you tell everyone who you are then?"

"My name is Thyra Denver" I pause, scanning the crowd until I find the angry faces of Bianca and co. "and this year I shall avenge the fallen of Two or die trying!"

**Cadfael**

I'm surprised to recognise this year's female Tribute as the Collegium Cadet who took down an Academia earlier. With her indifferent attitude to the blood matted in her long black hair and bruised face she's certainly no stranger to fighting. I guess the Collegium can turn out good candidates and Ares was right about me getting a strong partner. I should thank him when I next see him. I smile smugly- as long as some stuck-up Cadet who'll turn down any Volunteers isn't Reaped, the next time I'll see Ares is on the train to the Capitol.

Cardellia trots across the stage to Reap Troy Carson, a skinny twelve year-old who immediately bursts into tears. Didn't anyone tell him that a Volunteer will take his place? Sighing, I raise my hand and shout the required 'I Volunteer' when Cardellia asks. I'm not challenged by any of the older boys- this is my right as victor of the Ludus Equester- although there are a few stray runners from the younger sections as I make my way to the stage; they're not fast enough to be a threat though.

"And who would you be?" Cardellia squeaks. I try to hide my amusement at her accent like Ares warned me to.

"Cadfael Slater."

"Well your certainly another strong looking Tribute…" Strong but not handsome, not like most of our Tributes. "Shake hands!"

I offer Thyra my hand and she hesitates before taking it. Her fingers are thin and bony but her grip is strong as I squeeze back. Glimpsing into her eyes I can see hatred and determination comparable to my own reflected back from her amber pupils.

A good partner indeed.

* * *

**I use the Asian names for the sai parts so looking up a labelled picture of one would be a good idea as I'll be continuing using the traditional names for weapons/skills like this.**

**Okay- a note on the Academy system. It'll come up a bit more later and it's already been mentioned a bit so I'll explain it now (partly because I'm rather pleased with my creation).**

**There are three 'levels' of Academy- Collegium (which runs part-time, non-rigid classes), Schola (also part-time classes but far more formal and demanding) and Academia (elite full time boarding schools which teach both academic and warrior skills).**

**Everyone starts in a Collegium at about six/seven and trains there until their tenth birthday. Then for the next three years they're eligible to take the entrance exams for the Schola/Academia. The normal route for Academia Cadets is entry to a Schola at ten, two years training there and then entry to an Academia but it is possible to go straight into an Academia. Thus, by the age of thirteen Cadets are generally sorted into Collegium (poor to okay), Schola (average to good) and Academia (elite). However, the cost of training increases with the rank of the Academy so good poor students who aren't quite good enough to merit a scholarship often find themselves in a lower ranked school than they might deserve (hence why Academia are filled mainly with rich kids). Factors increasing the proportion of richer kids in the top schools also include the fact that they're the only ones who can afford personal tuition for entrance exams, bribery and the fact that after thirteen transfer to a higher school is impossible no matter how good you are (hence why a Collegium can have a Victor; an average student can go from okay to amazing with a lot of hard work). **

**The Ludus Equester is a yearly tournament held to select the best Cadets to Volunteer; there are also other side contests in different skills for those not ready to Volunteer to compete. Smaller selection competitions are held in individual schools to select students of enough skill to compete. The winners of the main event (a knock-out tournament with male/female divisions) is generally picked as the Volunteer but the Academy governing board the ****Consilium Institutio can refuse them and if they want, put forward a different candidate**.

**District One has the same system but District Four only has Collegium and Schola equivalents- the Escuela and Internado respectively.**

**I hope that was interesting!**

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**Also, I'd be really interested to know what people think of my Tributes so far and any criticisms of my writing style. Are the personalities coming through well, do they react believably and similar stuff. I can only improve if people tell me what they like/don't like.**

**Many thanks!**

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**Current open spots: All but D1, D2, D4, D7f, D10m**


	4. District Three Reapings

**District Three Reapings**

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_One week before the Reaping..._

* * *

**Wyatt Abalone (17)**

_The poor idealist. _

The klaxon blares across the factory floor, the ear-piercing cry marking the end of this shift and the start of another. Around me, the listless figures of my co-workers drop their tools and drag themselves to their feet as soon as they hear its first shrill whistle. Ducking my head, I instead scrabble to pick up the next piece of wire and solder it to the board in front of me. I barely feel the scorching heat of the molten metal as it burns my fingers; years of this work has replaced almost all of the original coffee-brown skin on my hands with lighter, tougher scar tissue.

"Worker Nine-eight-nine-seven." I pale at the voice calling out my work number. Luckily, for me, it isn't one of the factory police. It's just my replacement, Worker Four-six-two-oh.

I'm suddenly aware of the fact that the empty benches have all been filled with the next shift of grey-clothed workers. The girl behind me smiles sadly- I must be looking at her in absolute despair, judging by her reaction. We both know that we have to work to feed ourselves; that if I stay any longer now she- and her family- may starve but if I leave, I- and my family- will go hungry. Standing, I try to return her smile, I'll manage somehow. She sits down, ignoring me, her fingers immediately racing to piece together the circuit board, like mine did only moments before. I shuffle off, my bare feet catching on the rough concrete floor.

Every step is an effort, an effort that drags me closer and closer to the hulking guards standing ready at the exit. When I reach them, the pair seize me, patting down every inch of my tired body, searching for anything I may have stolen. It seems pointless their checking as the threadbare cotton shirt and pants I wear conceal nothing but they do so anyway and I shiver as I feel their fingers rubbing roughly across my bones. At least it doesn't take them long to finish, pushing me on so that I stumble a bit before coming to a stop in front of the towering desk that seats the factory foreman. I stand there, shivering silently, waiting for his cold, drawn out voice to proclaim my fate.

"Number?" The foreman barely glances up at me until I reply. Then, after a few deft movements to call up my file on the screen in his desk, his lips thin to form a sly smile. "Only managed fifty-three today, did we?" I nod, not saying anything. Arguing will only lose me more of my wage and I'll have lost enough as it is. "Well, that's four less than your assigned target so don't go expecting the full As pay…" He tosses a small coin in my direction and I catch it without too much of a problem. Checking it, I'm disappointed to find it to be bronze and octagonal. A Quadran; just a quarter of a normal day's pay. It won't even buy me dinner. Still, no words of dispute pass my lips, no rebellious action is made; I just continue on my way. "Heh, you're lucky you got anything at all!" His cruel laughter follows me down the corridor, echoing off the walls as I trudge towards the dorms.

I really hate that man. Every day he seems to find an excuse to dock our pay and then laugh at our misery. I've seen kids reduced to tears because of his cruelty only to be beaten until they're black and blue for insolence. Even so, losing three quarters of my pay for being four boards behind seems a bit extreme; I only have myself to blame though anyway, if I hadn't stayed up so long last night practising, I might have been able to work better this morning… Not that I could change that now, nothing less than a time machine could alter the last twenty-four hours. It's a good thing I only have another week of this to survive- one more week before I can Volunteer for the Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games- losing is fatal but victory means wealth, glory and honour- food too for the first year. If I won- when I win- I'll have more than enough money to buy the District out of poverty. I'd be able to shut down all of the workhouse-factories; make sure the workers received a proper wage. Everyone would eat well and all the children would get an actual chance to go to school… Smiling, I try to remind myself to be realistic but after a life of poverty it's hard to stop daydreaming about wealth and a full stomach. It's even harder to stop fantasising about freeing everyone you know.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I nearly miss the small side corridor that leads to my assigned dorm. I only nearly miss it because it's near impossible to ignore or miss the overwhelming amount of sensual information it causes. Already the last shift of workers has left and my shift has piled in to claim their temporary places. A thin, rotting door is all that lies between me and probable human chaos, chaos that I can only avoid for so long.

Entering the communal dorm, the air is filled with the stench of humanity; countless bodies are crammed into the long room, either piled into the bug-ridden bunk beds lining the walls in twos or threes or curled up in blankets on the cold dirt floor. The putrid smells of stale sweat, dried sick and urine mix with the sharp tang of blood. Noise-wise, the room is filled with the screeches of young, starving children and the groans of the old and dying. Those in between, the relatively healthy workers, whisper fervently among themselves in small groups, eyeing others with contempt and suspicion. They hunch over bowls of thin, grey gruel, licking the plastic clean. As I pass, they stare at me distrustfully, their shaven heads seeming far too small for their bulging eyes.

Looking around the room it is easy to spot my family, the only flecks of darkness in a sea of grey. I find them crouched in a corner wrapped in as many blankets as they could find. Dad is sat with Mom's head resting in his lap as he tries to help her drink. Brushing a hand against her cheek, her skin is blisteringly hot.

"How is she?" I look sadly at the whimpering form of my mother, huddled against dad. She looks almost child-like, completely harmless and yet her thin face is blotched with dark purple bruises. She was beaten for not being able to work when it was her work that was killing her in the first place…

"Bad." Dad glimpses up with red-rimmed eyes. "It's got to be carbon-monoxide poisoning, there's no other explanation…" He's distracted by Mom's coughing fit. Her entire body shakes as she makes a hollow, hacking noise. Dad cradles her in his arms, protecting her until, eventually, she slips in to a restless slumber. Once she settled, dad looks up at me again, seemingly noticing my bowl-lessness for the first time. "Have you eaten?"

I shake my head and he passes me his own bowl- still more than half full- gesturing for me to eat. I try to pass it back, insisting that it's his but he refuses every time. Giving in, I sit down and begin eating. The gruel's little more than warm water but it fills my stomach and I have to force myself to take my time in eating it. They make it from the Tesserae rations that all of the kids eligible to Reaped take; we're forced to take the maximum amount of Tesserae, which is then taken- without payment- by the Factory owners to be cooked and sold back to us in its much-reduced form. Add to that the fact that we're also paid less than the equivalent adult workers are and you can see why so many children die in the workhouse before their last Reaping- almost all of us suffer from some symptoms of malnutrition due to never being able to rely on making enough to feed ourselves. That and the fact that disease spreads and kills so easily in our cramped living space. I've only survived in fair health because of my parent's sacrifices in prioritising feeding me over themselves.

"Not bad! Not quite up to gourmet standard but never-the-less excellent!" That extracts a slight smile from dad and I use the chance to give him the Quadran. "This is yours- for the food." He looks at it for a moment before passing it back and pressing it into my palm with his broad hands.

"Son, this is yours- you keep it." I open my mouth to disagree but I'm silenced by one of Dad's rare laughs. "It's a parent's job to look after their kid, Wyatt. We do it for free but if you've got a problem with that, winning the Games will more than repay us."

"Wait- how did you know I was planning on Volunteering?" I thought I'd kept my training for the Games absolutely secret. Not once have I mentioned practising- nor the small cavity in the roofing where I went to practise- to anyone in the seven years I've been doing it. I didn't even tell Magenta.

Dad laughs again. His white teeth seem ridiculously bright against his dark, greying skin. "Your friend- Magenta- she figured it out years ago. There was no point trying to hide it from her; that girl seems to know everything!" I join in his laughter. I guess expecting to hide my training from Magenta was a bit of a long shot. Ever since she started working here eleven years ago we've been nearly inseparable- at least until recently when I've had to step up my training regime. "You should talk to her- you need to tell her if you really are planning on Volunteering. Think about how she'll feel if you don't come back…"

I pull Mum's blankets tighter around her before rising and searching for my friend. As I try to find her tall, sleek frame amongst all of the other almost identical workers I'm struck with a worrying thought.

"Dad? Aren't you scared I might not come back?"

"Yes." His voice nearly breaks. "I am. But you've got it in your head that you want to go and you're doing it for all the right reasons. I would trade anything in the world for someone else to go but I can't. It's your choice and I can't stop you."

**Elyssa Beader (15)**

_The spirited entrepreneur._

I spot the sleek silver body of the train out of the corner of my eye as it races along its track, high above the streets of Three. I can't help but admire its' jagged outline with all of the harsh, un-natural corners. Compared with the stumpy, pre-fabricated, smoke-belching factories of the Irons around me it seems to come from a completely different world. I imagine myself standing in one of its luxurious compartments, watching the world rocket past; instead of staring up at it from dirt-ridden streets with hot, smoky, sooty air catching in my throat and wrapping my blackened clothes about me, I would be dining upon the finest Capitol delicacies dressed in a gossamer thin gown of pure silk. Surrounded by pure indulgence I could spend hours lying in comfort without the need to do anything except enjoy myself.

_Until the train crashed- the tracks buckling, the carriage tumbling down and down… falling faster and faster… crying and screaming and blood… lots and lots of blood…_

_Panic grips my body. I'm scared, uncontrollably scared. Every sensation- every drop of blood that brushes my skin, every shriek of pain, the salty taste of fear, the un-wholesome stench of gore- seems brighter, more intense and harsher than I've ever thought it could be. This technicolour world of death is terrifying. Until it fades away to darkness, cold, lonely darkness._

In a sort of detached way, I feel my knees buckling and my body crumpling to the ground before a pair of strong armscatch me in a strong embrace. A warm, whispering voice calls something; it takes me a few moments to realise that it's my name. Why would someone be calling my name?

"_Elyssa?_"

I let my eyes flutter open instinctively and automatically feel the heat of Will's body pressed against mine. He holds me tightly to his chest, his breath tickling my cheek as he rests his head on my shoulder. A faint smile plays on my lips as we eventually meet each other's eyes, his stormy grey ones softening with relief.

"Is she okay Will?" I catch Ginny's distinctive voice from over Will's shoulder and sure enough, as I pear over his back I spot my flame haired friend standing a little away from us. She tugs tentatively at her robust satchel, nervously biting her worn lip.

"I'm fine…" Allowing Will's steady hands to pull me to my feet, I take a few uneasy steps before wrapping my arms around him. As I bury my head in his soft shirt, I can feel the faint tickle of tears welling up in my eyes. I can't stop them and in moments, I'm licking their salty drizzle from my cheeks. Will hesitates and then hugs me back, caressing my hair gently.

"What happened…" His voice is soft and delicate, almost as if the slightest noise would shatter it into a thousand pieces. He trails off though, pausing and realising the cause of my tears. "The train- your aunt and uncle?" I try to nod, only managing to cry more and press myself into his shoulder harder. He catches my chin, lifting it so that he can look into my tear-ridden eyes. "We should take you home."

With that, his warm, protective embrace is gone and he is pulling me- and Ginny- away from the factories and back towards the residential area of Three. Casting a look at the heaps of scrap metal piled behind their fences I remember the empty bag hanging from my shoulder. "What about the craft shop though- we need more materials!"

"The shop doesn't matter." Looking at Will's stern face now, it's hard to believe he's the same person. Somehow, something has turned the boy I cared for- the boy I kissed- into something unrecognisable… I'm used to his mood swings but this seems a little extreme. Does he not care about me or is he just being a bit over-protective? I gasp as his grip around my wrist tightens and he spins round, seeing all of the guilt and worry written across my face. "I'm sorry- it's just that I'm worried for you." I nod quietly and he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before leading me on.

I let him escort me all the way home, waving goodbye to him once I can see our small wooden house. As he leaves, he leans up to plant a gentle kiss on my check and I feel my heart racing. I forget about the terrible afternoon, just wanting to spend hours alone with Will. All too soon though, he turns and walks off without a word, leaving me to wipe away the worst of my tears and hope that my red-rimmed eyes aren't too prominent.

Stepping inside, I almost immediately trip over one of the countless brown cardboard boxes that are stacked up in the corridor. Looking about it seems that in the few hours I've been gone almost all of them have been moved. I've no idea what could have caused this sudden rearrangement of all of our surplus stuff.

"Mom, Dad! I'm home!" I shout out the greeting as I slip off my shoes. If we walk about with them on inside it just serves to cover everything in grime.

"We're in the kitchen dear!" Mom's eloquent voice seems out of place in our hideous, shack like house. No, it is out of place, it's been out of place ever since we had to down-size- going from living in a decent sized house within one of Three's middle-class suburbs to this hellhole barely out of the Irons. "Put Lanny to bed would you and then come through here- we need to talk to you."

I'm happy to hunt out my three-year-old cousin from his hiding place behind some of the boxes. He laughs, chanting 'Lyssa' as I pick him up and carry him through to the room we share. He grins, smiling at me innocently. Tousling his hair, I set him in bed, tucking his blanket around him. It's nice to have him around even if I do have to share a room with him and his admiration for me is certainly satisfying but part of me can't help but identify his presence with Auntie Melody and Uncle Roy dying… But I can't put the blame on him for that, or for any of our current problems, no matter how much I'd love to. That'd just be immature and I'm anything but immature. A three-year-old couldn't cause anything like this.

"Elyssa! We're waiting!" At the sound of Dad's voice I hurry out of the room, flicking the light off and rushing into our small kitchen. Like Mom said, both she and Dad are there, with her sat on one of the rackety wooden chairs and him standing emotionlessly in the corner. As I enter, Mom waves for me to take a seat opposite her, then after taking a deep breath and with a few hesitating stutters, she begins to talk.

"Elyssa, you know that your father has been losing customers recently and I myself have been struggling to get work as well…" I nod. It's no secret that the company where Mom worked writing computer programs for the Capitol was laying off a lot of its workers and Mom had been one of the first to go. Without the money to keep up the rent on our last house, we'd had to move here and now because of it, Dad's work as a tailor was suffering too- there's only a few people in Three who can afford his work and none of them want to frequent a tailors which is stuck on the fringes of the Irons slums. "We have to look after Lanny now too and you've been forced to take Tesserae as well… The thing is that if we stay in Three there's not much we can do to…"

"What?" What do they mean 'if we stay in Three', how can there be any alternative? Sure, we aren't as well off as we used to be but there's no way we'll ever get in so much trouble that we'll have to go into the workhouse-factories. If there's such a big problem, I can just take more Tesserae- I'm not taking that much at the moment and a little extra should be okay… "What are you trying to say Mom?"

"Elyssa, we're thinking about… what I mean is…"

"We're moving to One." Dad cuts across mum, his voice several times deeper than hers. His District One accent is also far stronger than I think I've ever heard it before. "We leave a week after the Reaping."

"Are you serious? You expect me to leave everything I've got here, just like that? We're perfectly okay here, we don't need to go!" I snap my fingers for emphasis.

"There's no question about it Elyssa. Everything is planned and sorted. We leave in two weeks." Dad strides out of the room and I hear the door to his and Mom's room slamming shut. Does he have to be so egotistical that he can't even ask his own daughter what she thinks about possibly the biggest decision in her entire life? I wonder if this is a trait in all men from One. Not that I've resigned myself to going there, not yet.

I look at Mom, hoping for some kind of support, even if it is moral. I see nothing particularly comforting in her aged features though. "Surely you disagree Mom? All of my friends are here. And Will. I'll have nothing in One- no one I know, no one that I care for… I don't want to go!" I hate how petulant I sound, like a toddler that's just been told it can't have its favourite toy. Yet does remaining mature really matter when I care this strongly about this? Maybe not.

"Think about this Elyssa- Fredrick and I are doing this for your good. Yours, Lanny's and Ross's. If we move back to One, Fredrick's business will pick up and I'll be able to get a better job too. We can go back to living like we used to. And One is the luxury District after-all, your craft skills would be sought after!"

"But this is Home. Mine and Yours. District One isn't Home. It might be for Dad but it isn't ours." Mom was born and bred in Three and only met Dad when on transfer to One, bringing him back with her when her placement ended. She must understand how it would feel to leave your District along with everyone you knew; even if she only left temporarily before, can't she imagine how it would feel to never see any of them again? It was okay for Dad as his sister and her husband could visit whenever the Capitol train they worked on passed through Three which was relatively often- at least until the crash- but there's no way that any of my friends would be able to visit. That's what she needs to, has to realise.

My words get a stern glare from Mom. She thinks I'm pushing it too much. "Let's look at this differently shall we?" I recognise the tone she uses when she's annoyed. Slightly condescending and definitely arrogant. "The Reaping Elyssa- if we stay here you'll be forced to take far too much Tesserae. After this year you've got three more years too. Then, when Lanny's twelve he'll have to go through exactly the same only he'll be taking Tesserae from twelve and will be in a much worse situation… If we move to One then you won't need to take any Tesserae and even if you get Reaped, some Career will Volunteer- you'll be far safer there!" I still open my mouth to protest. I don't manage to say anything though as my complaints are silenced before I can even begin.

"I know this is hard on you Elyssa; the first time I left Three I didn't like it either. But good things can come out of terrible situations." I look at her convinced. Its fair advice but not advice my heart wants to pay attention to. However, Mom continues undeterred, handing over a brown paper package. When I hold it, its contents are soft and malleable. "Here. This was going to be for your birthday next week."

I open the parcel and smile wryly as I recognise the citrus green shirt and jeans. They aren't the pair I'd spotted and admired in a thrown away Capitol fashion magazine but they're a close replica. Dad must have made them.

"If you like them, you can wear them to the Reaping." Mom smiles slyly. She doesn't need to say the unspoken implication- that if we go to One, things like these clothes will be far easier to come by.

* * *

_On the day of the Reaping..._

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**Elyssa**

Ginny stands next to me as we wait for the Reaping to begin. As I watch her fidgeting with her string bracelet, I try to respond to her few questions but other than that, I don't really say anything. I guess I'm feeling a bit guilty about not having said anything about having to move yet; I thought it would be better to wait until after we knew we'd all escaped this year's Reaping. Part of me just wants to pretend for as long as possible that life will carry on as it always had and that we aren't leaving. I guess I'm worried too about how they'll react- especially Will. Will they feel like I've deserted and betrayed them by agreeing to move and not saying anything? Maybe not but I doubt that my departure will be accepted particularly easily. Having only recently resigned myself to going I've really begun to dread telling them, lest their reaction prompt some useless hope that I might be able to stay.

There's a commotion in the crowds around us and I use my height to peer over the others and see workers from the Irons workhouse-factories shuffling in. They all look dead, the women and men indistinguishable with universally shaven heads and starved bodies. As the girls file into our section we all shift away from them, squeezing tighter together. There's no firm reason behind our reaction it's just automatic. I've always found their absolute silence slightly creepy. At least their presence means the Reaping is about to start; sure enough Pazkal Thornal strides up to the mike.

" 'Sup D-Three?" We stare at him blankly. No one understands a thing he's saying, except for the 'Three' part. Supposedly, the 'techies' in pre-Panem were all supposed to talk like this, along with wearing glasses and crazily patterned t-shirts. There are a fair few of glasses wearers in Three- mainly those who work as programmers- and from what I've heard, the massive plastic rimmed style Pazkal wears are nothing like actual glasses and they even find it slightly insulting. It seems like poor eyesight and the need to wear glasses is a serious problem for them and they hate those that trivialise it.

"Well, tough crowd, hey! I'm sure you just can't wait to find out who your new Tributes are going to be. But first an absolutely awesome Capitol film for you!"

I barely bother watching the film. They show it every year and as far as I can remember, it's only changed once- for the Quarter Quell. As the last clips finish playing and Pazkal returns to the mike, I take a good look at my friend. She notices and I mouth 'It'll be fine'. I get a smile in return. It's only brief though as Pazkal shouts out the name of our Tribute.

"Elyssa Beader!"

Ginny tries to grab me but I shake her off. "There's no point, the Peacekeepers will just shoot you."

She lets go hesitantly and I look up at the large screens by the Justice Building. On them is a very scared looking girl, her dark strawberry-blond hair obscuring her face. It's me. I really have been picked.

I can do this. I don't need to panic. I just need to get to the stage.

A flash of white makes me spin round as I walk down the aisle. There are Peacekeepers surrounding me. Still no reason to panic, they do that to everyone every year.

Yet I still nearly freak as Pazkal bends over from the top of the stairs to guide me up. At this distance, I can see faint scars all over his face. They must be from all of the surgery he's had done. He smiles at me and I can see two rows of perfect gleaming white teeth. I try to smile back, make it look like I'm not petrified on the cameras. He won't ask for Volunteers, it's pointless- there's no system here, if anyone had wanted to Volunteer they would have done it as I made my way to the stage. Asking for Volunteers would just highlight how woefully cowardly our District is. Any semblance of strength is lost though as Pazkal prepares to draw a slip from the boys' bowl.

The boys' bowl. What if he picks Will? How will I cope with having to go into the arena with him? No- even if he isn't drawn, what if he Volunteers?

Scanning the crowd, I try to spot my boyfriend's dark hair. There are too many kids who look like him so I don't spot him until it's too late. Pazkal's pale lips are already preparing to read out the name. Surely, it can't be Will's. It isn't. A very scared Bytz Byrate emerges from the fourteen-year-old section and takes a few tentative steps towards the stage. Two steps- that's how far he gets.

Two steps before someone Volunteers.

**Wyatt**

The moment I spot Bytz stepping out behind me, I throw my hand up and shout 'I Volunteer' as loud as I can. The boys around me- all fellow workers from the workhouse-factory and standing close enough for me to see what seems like every grain of dirt covering them- turn to look at me, part confused, part pitying. Normally we only Volunteer to die quickly; many believe that its better to die quickly by the sword than to slowly starve. Although it's not the case today as I have every intention of returning, they don't know that and just assume I've given up the will to live.

A wave of chatter rushes through the crowds as I make the short journey down the aisle. Passing the girl's eighteen year-old section, I catch a quick glimpse of Magenta smiling; after I explained my plans to her she been completely supportive, at least after a day or two of not speaking to me for being an idiot. I'm not sure if I was supposed to be an idiot for Volunteering or for not telling her sooner. The Peacekeepers surrounding Bytz leave him and appear around me instead, walking with me to the front of the crowd. There's no return now.

Before I know it, I'm climbing onto the rough wooden stage and looking at the crowd in front of me. I'm amazed at how many people there are- and this isn't even the entire population of Three as there'll be others watching on Capitol screens in the streets around us. Three's supposed to be a small District too; I can't imagine how many people would be in the bigger ones like Nine or Eleven.

"Name?"

I pause, realising that I was about to give my worker number. After going by it for my entire life, it seems strange to finally be recognised by my actual name. "Wyatt Abalone."

That's all I can manage but it seems to be enough. Pazkal switches from looking at me scrutinisingly to looking at the pair of us expectantly. "Well shake hands!"

Taking Elyssa's hand, I fully realise for the first time just how physically disadvantaged I'm going to be in the Games. Although she's a year or two younger than me, she's about as tall as I am but she must still weigh nearly twice as much as me. Although I expect she'll be one of the bigger non-Careers, the Careers will be even bigger and stronger. That wouldn't fare well for me if I didn't have a plan.

I smile slightly and suddenly Elyssa's hand drops from mine, finishing the handshake. Immediately, we're surrounded by Peacekeepers again and they march us towards the Justice Building. I can just hear Pazkal making one final announcement to the crowds and cameras outside as the doors swing shut but I don't have time to listen- I'm too busy admiring the ornately decorated corridor we're stood in. It might not seem that fine to anyone who hasn't grown up in what amounts to a couple of barely furnished concrete rooms but the carpeted floor and dark painted walls are far grander than anything I could have imagined before. And if this is just the Justice Building, I wonder what the Capitol will be like.

* * *

_**So these are the first Tributes I've had submitted, I hope I've done them justice. **_

_**There won't be anything next week as I'm away but I've been working on putting together a blog with all the necessary information on it. Currently it's a bit stubby but I'll work out everything and put the name in an AN when it's ready to be looked at. Hopefully, it will include ALL of my background to THG including a full history from Panem from the near-future all the way through to the 74th Games as well as info specifically for the 3nd Games.**_

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Current open spots: D5, D5, D7M, D8, D9, D10f, D11, D12.


End file.
